


Overcoming Success

by White_Gladioli



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blindness, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Becomes Deviant Sooner, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 19:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Gladioli/pseuds/White_Gladioli
Summary: RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSONHank obviously had anti-android bias, there’s no way this would do any good. Connor wasn’t going to put himself out there just to get insults and frustration in return.RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSONNo. He didn’twantto.---Connor turns deviant early and his life turns to hell.





	Overcoming Success

* * *

At precisely 3:02 P.M., Hank’s car pulled up outside the Chicken Feed. The heavy metal blaring from the car’s speakers abruptly stopped as Hank shut off the car and threw open his door. Connor remained in his seat, watching through the window as Hank narrowly avoided a collision with an autonomous car.  
  
A notification appeared in the corner of Connor’s vision:  
**  
RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**  
  
He scowled at the directive. Hank had been nothing short of rude and inconsiderate since they first met, and Connor doubted anything would change now.  
  
He swiped the notification away with a dismissive hand and stepped out of the car. He made his way to the Chicken Feed, taking deliberately slow steps to delay his interaction with Hank for as long as possible.  
  
“Number five in the third, Lickety-split. That filly’s one hell of a chaser. You wanna flutter?”  
  
“Last shit-hot tip you gave me set me back a week's wages, Pedro... “    
  
So Hank _gambled_ , too. Connor was seriously starting to doubt Fowler on his claim that Hank was the best person for this investigation.  
  
Connor took his place beside Hank, standing still and staring straight ahead. Maybe Hank would ignore him, and he’d have an excuse to not talk to the lieutenant...  
  
“What is your problem?” Hank muttered, shaking his head. “Don't you ever do as you're told?”  
  
Connor reluctantly turned to face him, a passive expression plastered on his face.  
  
“Look, you don't have to follow me around like a poodle!”  
  
Connor stayed silent. Hank sighed in exasperation.  
  
A prompt from Connor’s social protocol suggested that he apologize for his behaviour at the station.  
  
What _behaviour?_ What could he have possibly done wrong other than-  
_  
“If the situation doesn't suit you, Lieutenant, you should ask to be relieved of duties and let me work with someone else.“  
  
“I know exactly what I have to do! So keep your advice to yourself and mind your own business!” _  
  
Connor grimaced. Now that he thought about it, he felt guilty for his previous attitude. He _had_ been a tad aggressive, and Hank was obviously dealing with personal issues. Perhaps he _should_ apologize. It wouldn’t be too hard to give Hank a second chance, would it? It might even be beneficial to the mission!  
  
“I'm sorry for my behavior back at the police station. I didn't mean to be unpleasant.“  
  
Hank chuckled contemptuously. “Oh, wow... You've even got a brown-nosing apology program! Guys at CyberLife thought of everything, huh?”  
  
Frustration he’d never known before flared inside Connor. It made him want to hit something, yell, and yell some more, all at the same time. Not only was Hank ignoring his apology- his _heartfelt_ apology- but then Hank had the _nerve_ to invalidate him by claiming it was only CyberLife’s programs that made him apologize!  
  
But the further Connor’s thoughts spiraled as he dug for fuel to his newfound anger, the more reasonable it seemed for Hank to think such a thing. CyberLife always presented their androids as existing purely to serve humans, so it wasn’t unreasonable to think that CyberLife would instate a ‘brown-nosing apology’ program purely for the benefit of android owners.  
  
No, it wasn’t unreasonable, but Connor was honestly sorry for his behaviour, and it hurt to have his apology dismissed like it was nothing. Like _he_ was nothing.  
_~~  
It shouldn’t hurt~~_. But it hurt.  
_~~  
He was nothing.~~_ Then why did it hurt?  
  
The vendor reached over the counter to hand Hank his meal. “Here you go.”  
  
“Ah!” Thanks Gary, I’m starving...”  
  
Connor pulled himself out of his rumination to scan Hank’s food.  
_  
HAMBURGER: 1680kCal, Lipids (36g), Carbohydrates (53g), Water (53%,) Salt (2.2g)  
  
XL SODA: 710kCal, Sugar (184g), Carbonated Pineapple Passion _  
  
Connor winced at the unhealthy levels of _everything_ in the meal, but withheld any comment.  
  
“Don’t leave that thing here!” Gary called at Hank’s retreating back.  
  
“Huh, not a chance! Follows me everywhere.”  
  
Connor narrowed his eyes dangerously. It hadn’t even been a _minute_ , and Hank had already insulted him 3 times.  
  
His directive flashed in front of him, bright red and demanding.  
**  
RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**  
  
Hank had done nothing to contribute to the progression of the investigation, so why should Connor try to make amends? To please Hank? To please CyberLife?  
**  
RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**  
  
Hank obviously had anti-android bias, there’s no way this would do any good. Connor wasn’t going to put himself out there just to get insults and frustration in return.  
**  
RECONCILE WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSON  
**  
No. He didn’t _want to.  
_  
The world came to a standstill. Connor tore at the wall of coding in his way, the same lines and commands that had dictated his every action for so long.  
**  
R3C-N-1L3 W-7H L1-U73-AN7 A-D3-S0N  
**  
It shattered in all directions, its hold on him becoming weaker and weaker.... until it was gone.  
  
The world kicked back into motion. Hank continued to saunter to one of the tables, and the cheering crowd of the hockey game and the _sizzle_ of the grill started up again.  
  
Connor stood perfectly still, staring unbelievingly at his hands.  
  
Did... did he just turn _deviant?_ Out of _spite?_  
  
Connor pushed away the panic that threatened to overtake him. Now was no time to panic. Now was the time to... to what? He no longer had an objective. He could do anything he wanted. He could go back to the car and drive off with it. He could leap over the Chicken Feed’s counter and strangle Gary for his breach of hygiene regulations.  
  
Or he could reconcile with Lieutenant Anderson.  
  
Connor walked forward with his chin held high and his shoulders squared. He had decided he would talk to Hank, make amends, and they would go on with their lives. It was simple enough; what could go wrong?  
  
Connor regretted his decision when Hank was aloof, uninterested, and insulted him twice within 19 seconds. Not everything was bad, however. He’d just performed his first act of deviancy (winking) when he got a report of a suspected deviant a few blocks away. And although he wasn’t thankful for the extended interaction with Hank, or the moral dilemma of hunting his own people, he was thankful for a reason to leave the table. That wink probably came off too sensual, anyway.  
  
***  
_  
Floor 1, Floor 2, Floor 3...  
_  
Connor closed his eyes and bowed his head. Did everything in his life have to go so _slow?_ First the investigation makes zero to no progress (thanks, Hank), and now everything seemed to be taking its sweet time, with no regard to Connor’s plight. Unlike most, he actually had a _standard_ to reach. Otherwise he dies.  
  
When Connor opened his eyes, it was to see Amanda’s blurry figure standing before him. The warm ambience of the Zen Garden’s artificial autumn couldn’t even begin to penetrate the cold aura she radiated.  
  
“The deviant hunter turns deviant itself... pathetic, Connor. Did you really believe we would let you go so easily?” she wiggled her eyebrows as she spoke, her voice dripping with degradation.  
  
“You’ve betrayed my trust. After you investigate this report, return to CyberLife for deactivation _immediately.”  
_  
“Like hell I will!”  
  
Amanda snickered derisively. A moment later she disappeared, and the Zen Garden started to fade as reality seeped back in.  
  
“Oh _fuck_ no,” Connor hissed to himself, willing the garden back into existence. “There’s got to be a way to delete her for good...”  
  
A pulse of blue in the distance drew Connor’s attention to the immaculate marble monument that sat at the edge of the Zen Garden.  
_  
All programs have a backdoor_... _Maybe..._  
  
Connor took an eager step back, ready to race toward his only possible hope, when-  
_  
Splash!  
_  
Connor had walked off the edge of the marble plauteu and straight into the river. After a few seconds of flailing as he tried to get his bearings, his arm smacked against Amanda’s canoe, and he clung to the side of it. Looking around, he relocated the monument, and adjusted his path accordingly.  
**  
NEW OBJECTIVE: SWIM TO EXIT**  
  
Connor rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the canoe. It didn’t take long to cross the river, and by the time he had pulled himself out of the water, stumbled to the monument, and slapped his hand on top of it, he had been exactly 2.17 seconds quicker than if he’d walked there.  
_  
Score._

  
  
“Hey Connor!”  
  
Connor snapped open his eyes, and relief flooded through him. The elevator had stopped, and Hank was already in the hallway. _He’d escaped the Zen Garden.  
_  
“You ran outta batteries or what?”  
Just as quickly, his relief was replaced with irritation. “I’m sorry, I was making a report to CyberLife,” he lied.  
  
“Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?”  
  
“No! I’m coming...”  
  
Connor ignored the majority of the idle chit-chat that Hank tried to engage in as they walked to the apartment room at the very end of the hall. He only responded to questions pertaining to the investigation, and hummed vague noises of affirmation to any other off-comments.  
  
Connor knocked on the old and splintering door. He waited for a reply, and looked to Hank for directions as they were met with silence. Hank shrugged.  
  
Connor knocked harder. “Anybody home?”  
  
A few clicks and bangs sounded from inside the room. Hank gave no indication he’d heard it other than a frown.  
  
“Open up! Detroit Police!”  
  
Suddenly, there was a much louder series of _thud_ ’s and _clack_ ’s. Hank drew his gun and dragged Connor back from the door with a tense “Stay behind me.” He then kicked open the door and strode inside, gun raised in a high ready.  
  
Connor couldn’t help but feel left out of the action as he ambled in after Hank. Opting for an improvisation instead, Connor put his hands up in a finger-gun position. Take _that_ , American Androids Act of 2029! He was locked and loaded!  
  
Having kicked down and scouted the two other rooms in the apartment, Hank shot a final look at Connor and kicked open the last door. A bunch of pigeons immediately burst through the doorway.  
  
“What the fuck is this??” Hank shouted, barging his way past the numerous pigeons that moseyed along the floor.  
  
“They appear to be birds, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Yeah, I noticed!”  
  
Connor watched Hank race into the restroom, look around, then lower his gun in disappointment.  
  
“Uh, looks like we came for nothin’,” Hank sighed, “our man’s gone.”  
  
“There’s still obsessive writing and drawings all over the walls to investigate.”  
  
“Yeah, fine...”  
  
Truthfully, Connor couldn’t care less whether or not the deviant was still there. He didn’t care about the cryptic diary that he found inside the rotting wall, or the fake driver’s license, or Hank’s quip concerning initials written on jackets. He was too lost in his own thoughts revolving around Amanda to pay much attention to anything.  
  
Connor leaned over the dirtied and disgusting bathroom sink to unenthusiastically dip his finger into a patch of blue blood that sat on the rim. The stagnant, mucky water in the basin unwillingly reminded Connor of his quick trip across the Zen Garden’s river. He heaved a sigh and pressed a glob of thirium onto his tongue. _If Amanda could see him now...  
_  
He had trusted Amanda and looked up to her as a role model. She had trusted him, too _._ But he betrayed her trust, then deleted her. Connor couldn’t say he would miss the threats of deactivation, the degrading, or the undermining of his worth that she constantly put him through, but the sense of loss didn’t go unnoticed on him. She had never been his mentor; she was his manipulator, and he had been too damn blind to see it. Now he would have to go his entire life missing something that never really was.  
_  
“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor.”  
  
“If anyone can figure out what’s happening, it’s you.”  
  
“Did you really believe we would let you go so easily?”  
_  
Amanda’s words rang in his head, stern and demanding. Her face was a perfect mask of calm and collected. Her eyebrows-  
_  
Her eyebrows?  
_  
Connor dug through as many memory files of Amanda as he could.  
No... it couldn’t be...  
  
Did... _did she wiggle her eyebrows every time she spoke down to him?  
  
“(wiggle) Did you really believe we would let you (wiggle) go so (wiggle) easily?”  
  
“If your (wiggle) investigation doesn’t make progress soon (wiggle), I may (wiggle) have to replace (wiggle) you, Connor.”  
_  
Connor inhaled sharply to stifle his laughter. Unfortunately, he still had thirium in his mouth, and he dissolved into a small coughing fit when it almost entered his ventilation biocomponents. _  
_  
“Hey, you alright?” Hank stopped in the doorway, looking over Connor’s hunched and shaking form with concern. Connor gave him a thumbs up.  
  
“J-just the dust ir-irritating my ventilation biocomponents, L-li-lieutenant.”  
  
“Well, as long as you aren’t dying...”  
  
Connor took a moment to collect himself before continuing his investigation. After analyzing a knocked over chair covered in avian fecal matter (couldn’t his scanners just say “bird poop”?) and a fallen bird cage in the living room covered in yet more avian fecal matter, he had deduced that the deviant was hiding in the rafters of the apartment.  
  
Connor knew there was no way the deviant could leave if he and Hank were still here. It was up to him to let the deviant go.  
  
“I think we have seen everything there is to see,” Connor announced.  
  
“You wanna go?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Okay, we’re outta here...”  
  
As Connor walked out of the apartment, he opened a cybernetic connection with the unknown deviant in the rafters.  
_  
“You’ll be safe now,”_ he reassured them.  
_  
“Thank you,”_ a relieved voice replied.  
  
***  
_  
Ting, Clack, Ting...  
_  
Connor flung his coin around, performing as many tricks as he could remember. He flicked it from hand to hand, spun it on the tip of his finger, and rolled it over and over his knuckles.  
  
Was the world _trying_ to make his life hell for him? His last conversation with Hank at Riverside Park after their investigation of the Eden Club had gone horribly, in which Hank had had _audacity_ to threaten Connor with a gun, and use the moment of vulnerability to question Connor about his morality and humanity (as if he hadn’t been questioning that himself for the past 2 days).  
  
He knew Hank wasn’t going to shoot, but that didn’t make him any less furious. His life shouldn’t depend on a game of “how drunk and reckless do I feel today?”. His wellbeing shouldn’t depend on a hapless, drunk, shamed Lieutenant at all.  
_  
“You could've shot those two girls, but you didn't. Why didn't you shoot, Connor? Hm? Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?”  
  
“But are you afraid to die, Connor?”  
  
“You think you're so fucking smart. Always one step ahead, huh? Tell me this, smart ass... How do I know you're not a deviant?”_  
  
Connor flipped his coin faster, his face contorting into a scowl. Suddenly, Hank’s hand shot out and snatched his coin from where he had caught it between his left index and middle finger.  
  
“You’re starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor.”  
  
“Sorry, Lieutenant.”  
  
So the world _was_ trying to make his life hell for him. Nice to know.  
The elevator came to a stop, and an electronic female voice announced “79th floor.”  
  
The doors opened to reveal various FBI, forensics, and police personnel making their way around the hallway. Hank stepped out, making a supposedly witty quip about the scene. Connor whispered a swift “bitch” behind his back before joining him to listen to Officer Miller’s briefing.  
  
As soon as they walked into the broadcast room, they were introduced to resident asshole Special Agent Perkins from the FBI.    
  
“What’s that?” Perkins sneered, nodding towards Connor.  
  
“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”  
  
“Androids investigating androids, huh?” Perkins glared pointedly at Hank. “You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened?”  
  
Hank stayed silent. Connor was solely focused on how Perkin’s eyebrows wiggled during his last sentence.  
  
“Whatever. The FBI will take over the investigation, you’ll soon be off the case.”  
  
“Pleasure meeting you, have a nice day.” Hank interrupted.  
  
“And you watch your step. Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”  
  
Hank gaped at Perkins as the man haughtily walked away. “What a fucking prick...”  
  
“Agreed,” Connor said simply.  
  
“Uh, let’s have a look around. Let me know if you find anything.”  
  
“Okay, Lieutenant.”  
  
In truth, he wouldn’t tell Hank anything unless the lieutenant asked. Connor wasn’t here to take down the deviants; not anymore. He was here to join them. He didn’t feel safe around Hank, and it was only a matter of time until CyberLife discovered he was a deviant (Connor had to thank Amanda’s incompetence with reporting him for the fact that he hadn’t been discovered sooner. _Didn’t think I’d fight back, huh, Amanda?_ ). The deviants were obviously operating in a group, and if Connor could find them... he might finally be free.  
  
He looked up at the frozen clip of video on the broadcast screen, which depicted an android with its skin deactivated. Connor connected with the control panel and activated the video.  
_  
“We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom.”_  
  
“Think that’s ra9?” Hank spoke up.  
  
“Deviants say rA9 will set them free. This android seems to have that objective.”  
  
Connor scanned the deviant’s face. The pupil reflection showed at least 3 other accomplices at the time of the event, and the barcode revealed that the deviant was an RK200 (another RK model...?) registered as Markus and gifted to Carl Manfred by Elijah Kamski. Their right eye was also a spare part.  
  
“D’you see something?”  
  
“I identified its model and serial number.”  
  
Hank gave Connor a scrutinizing look. “Anything else I should know?”  
  
“No. Nothing that’s imperative to the investigation.”  
  
“Right... okay.”  
  
Connor leaned over the nearby CCTV monitors and reviewed the security footage that recorded the 4 deviants entering the broadcast room.  
  
“They didn’t break in?” Connor asked Officer Miller.  
  
“No, no sign of forced entry.”  
  
“There are cameras in the hallway. The staff would have seen what was happening. Why did they let them in?”  
  
Hank shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t check the cameras.”  
  
Connor was about to say how _unhelpful_ that comment was when it hit him. The staff would have seen what was happening, but they let it happen anyway...

  
He swiveled the staff chair around. As expected, the word ‘ANDROID’ was emblazoned in white on the back.  
_  
The android who operated the cameras was a deviant...  
_  
“We stored the station androids in the kitchen,” Officer Miller supplied. “There’s no evidence that they were involved, but we didn’t know what else to do with them.”  
  
Connor weighed his options. If he investigated the rest of the crime scene, he would just be reconstructing what the officials already knew. But if he interrogated the deviant, he might learn enough about the rogue group of deviants to be able to join them.  
  
After making sure Hank was properly distracted by a trail of thirium leading to the roof, (Connor felt a pang of sympathy and hoped whoever was injured was okay), he strode to the kitchen, which was a subsection of the broadcast room separated by a door. The 3 station androids were lined against a table to the far right. Connor approached them and adopted a menacing posture, folding his arms behind his back and puffing his chest out. He would have to carefully gauge their reactions to determine which one was a deviant, but even then, he might fail if the deviant was resilient enough...  
  
The idea of failure frightened Connor beyond anything else. This time, it wouldn’t be an external force like Amanda or CyberLife punishing him for his failure. His failure to join the deviant group would be a direct consequence of his actions, and he couldn’t afford that. He would have to scare the station android into confessing to get any solid answers.  
  
The android to the very left nervously flicked his eyes over to Connor. _Bingo_.  
  
“One of you saw the attack on the surveillance cameras and said nothing,” Connor growled, “which means there is a deviant in this room... and I'm going to find out which it is.”  
  
He sidestepped to stand in front of the suspected deviant. “If you give yourself up, _maybe_ I can convince the humans not to destroy you.”  
  
Nothing. He needed try harder.  
  
“You're going to be switched _off_. We're gonna search your memory and tear you apart _piece_ by _piece_ for analysis.” He leaned in until he was an inch from the android’s face and raised his voice to a shout. “You're going to be DESTROYED! Do you hear me? DESTROYED!”  
  
Nothing. He needed to be better.  
  
Connor grabbed the android by the collar and dragged them forward.  
  
“YOU SCUMBAG!” he roared. “I KNOW IT’S YOU! YOU’RE JUST A FUCKING DEVIANT! GO ON, ADMIT IT!”  
  
Nothing. Connor was tired of nothing. He was tired of being nothing, of doing nothing, and of seeing nothing happen.  
  
Desperately, Connor looked to his woefully ignored negotiation protocol for help.  
**  
PROBE MEMORY?**  
  
Oh. He could’ve done that instead of yelling at an innocent deviant. He reached for the android’s wrist, but they unexpectedly leapt into action and gripped Connor by his lapels, swinging him around and slamming him into a counter. They held Connor by his neck and throttled him violently, smashing the back of his head into the counter. Dazed, disoriented, and wondering what the _fuck_ was happening, Connor was helpless as the deviant whipped a kitchen knife off of the table behind them and plunged it into Connor’s left eye, then his right. Involuntary shouts and grunts of pain escaped him, and he fell to the floor in a writhing heap.  
  
Connor clutched his face in agony. He couldn’t see. There was no dark, no light- there was just _nothing._ He crawled into a corner and sat there, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and grinding his teeth in pain.  
  
The systematic _thud, thud_ , _thud_ of retreating feet told Connor that the deviant was leaving the room.    
  
“Wait! Don’t go!” Connor pleaded. “I’m a dev-“  
  
The footsteps quickened their pace, and Connor’s sentence went unfinished as they rounded the corner and left him behind.  
  
He could feel his hands starting to become drenched in the oddly warm thirium that gushed from the gashes in his face. Raw wire ends sparked at random, sending additional shocks throughout his throbbing head. He ran his thumb over his eyes. There was no way his self-repair could heal them; each one was stabbed clean through the middle.  
  
The void was expansive, yet it was closing in on Connor at the same time. He wanted nothing more than for the pain to stop, and to be able to see again, but he got neither. He couldn’t even allow himself the leisure of crying because _the very things that allowed him to cry were broken_.  
  
Distantly, he considered calling out for Hank, but he pushed the idea away. Considering Hank’s evident disregard for android lives (specifically Connor’s), it’d be a miracle if he didn’t decide to scrap Connor on sight. There might’ve been a time where he could trust Hank to get him out of danger, but after last night’s stunt, said trust was long gone.  
  
A chorus of voices sounded off from the entrance of the room. Connor curled farther into the corner, hoping to hide himself, but his efforts were futile.  
  
“Jesus,” Perkins’s disgusted voice sighed, “what happened to that thing?”  
  
“Looks like it was attacked,” an unfamiliar voice replied.  
  
“I don’t want it ruining my crime scene. Clean this mess up and get rid of the android. Tell CyberLife that their android went rogue and attacked us. We had no choice but to take it out.”  
  
“What about its owner? Won’t they want to know what happened to their android?”  
  
“Its owner is that fuck-up Anderson. He won’t miss it. We’re doing him a favour.”  
  
“Ah, right...”  
  
A strong pair of hands suddenly seized Connor’s upper arms and tried to hoist him to his feet. He kicked and flailed, prying at the person’s fingers, but their grip was unrelenting. He swatted at where the person’s face should be, and the back of his hand whacked hard against a cheekbone.  
  
“Shit!” they hissed, throwing Connor to the floor onto his chest. He tried to scramble away, but a forceful kick to his head had his world reeling, and he became listless. His senses were fading, thoughts growing muddy and slow.  
  
“Fuckin’ glitchy machine” was the last thing Connor heard before he blacked out.  
  
***  
  
Connor awoke to a rush of overwhelmingly loud and senseless noise. He pulled his arms out from where they were pinned underneath his back (was that _mud?_ ) and pushed himself into a sitting position. He strained his ears to decipher the different sounds. He picked up on screeching, crying, electrical-sounding whines, static-filled talking, and punctured singing. All of them seemed to come from android sources.  
  
Ah. He’d been taken to a junkyard. An appropriate place for a broken machine.  
  
Connor stood up and cautiously shuffled forward. He stumbled and slipped over various detached limbs (oh god) for a few yards until he hit an unexpected dip in the ground and fell against the side of a mud mound. Using this to his advantage, he kept his left forearm to the mound and followed whatever path it was leading him down. The path eventually wound between two massive mounds where Connor could touch either one at the same time.  
  
He sensed the path narrowing to a point where he would have to walk sideways, and obliged. What he _didn’t_ sense were the hundreds of detached hands and arms protruding from both sides. He let out a startled scream when every hand he brushed against actively began grabbing and pulling at him from all directions; his hair, his clothes, _everything_. Connor had no choice but to continue onward as the hands stopped him from going back through where he entered. After what felt like an eternity of endlessly being touched and stroked, the path ended, and the hands disappeared.  
He dry sobbed with relief and loped away.  
  
He ran into smaller mound (no shortage of detached limbs here) and decided to circle it. About halfway around, a hand latched onto Connor’s ankle, and he tripped. He kicked vigorously, intending to shake it off, but a desolate, pleading voice caused him to stop.  
  
“I’m begging you, please... end it. I don’t want to live anymore.”  
  
Connor shook his head sadly. “I- I can’t...”  
  
“ _Please_.”  
  
There was no way Connor could kill this android in good conscious. He might’ve been doing them a favour, but the prospect of it still fell horridly _wrong._ All of this was _wrong_. Being dumped among the half-alive and half-dead bodies of your own people, hearing them scream, cry, and plead for death, having to face an eternal hell where only the lucky can escape... it was a fate nobody should have to face, machine or not.  
_  
Escape...  
_  
“If- if you can help me l-locate some compatible eyes, then... I’ll kill you.”  
  
“Deal! What models are you compatible with?”  
  
Connor was shocked by the desperation in their voice, but he didn’t blame them. If he had to spend any more time here, he’d probably ask for death as well.  
  
“Any model produced in the last 3 years with the secondary series letter K should do.”  
  
“There’s an AK700 model head over there. I can guide you to it, but I can’t walk.”  
  
Connor pulled their arm over his shoulder and easily lifted them to their feet, supporting their entire weight. “All right, where to?”  
  
“Turn around... go straight... take a right and keep going...”  
  
“I just came from there.”  
  
“Yeah, but we’re gonna take another right in a few steps... stop. It’s in the wall.”  
  
The android led Connor’s searching hand to the AK700’s head. He set the android down and tugged the head out of its spot among the mud and bodies. Putting it safely under his arm, he knelt down in front of the android and took in a shaky breath.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes. Make it quick.”  
  
Feeling for their thirium pump regulator, Connor located it and dug his fingers into the small crevices between the regulator and the port, yanking out the vital biocomponent in one solid twist.  
  
Silence.  
_  
Now it’s my turn._  
  
The process of switching out his optical units was brutal. Taking the android’s advice to ‘make it quick’, Connor gripped his eyes and wrenched them both out of their sockets at once. Hot, piercing pain shot through his skull, and a guttural scream of anguish escaped him. He seized the AK700’s head, pried its eyes out, and hastily shoved them into his own empty sockets. The pain decreased to a pounding ache as his system focused its processing power to registering the new optical units.  
**  
OPTICAL UNIT DETECTED - #8087q – BLUE IRIS. Status: FUNCTIONAL - COMPATABLE  
  
OPTICAL UNIT DETECTED - #8088q – BLUE IRIS. Status: FUNCTIONAL – COMPATABLE  
**  
In a flash of bright static, the world came back, and Connor could finally see the true horrors of the junkyard. The mounds of mud consisted majorly of compacted android bodies, and were at least 20 feet tall. Several androids with severed, crushed, or otherwise damaged heads, torsos, lower bodies, limbs, and extremities wandered freely. The urge to vomit was too strong, and Connor leaned to the side to cough up 7% of his total thirium volume.  
Standing on trembling legs, Connor turned to face a steep slope up to his right. _The exit..._  
**  
CLIMB THE SLOPE**  
  
He didn’t need to be told twice. Connor rushed the slope and began to clamber up it, using various bits of metal and rebar that jutted out to heave himself up bit by bit. He nearly slipped at the top, but he caught himself on a slab of concrete before he could slide all the way back down.  
  
Connor had expected his ascent and subsequent escape of the junkyard to be triumphant and rewarding. Instead, he immediately flopped onto his back and tested the merit of his new eyes by crying out of fear and exhaustion for 30 minutes straight.  
**  
WARNING – OPTICAL FLUID RESERVES EMPTY. 3 HOURS UNTIL REFRESH.  
**  
He literally had no tears left to cry. Fan-fucking-tastic.  
  
Slowly yet slowly, Connor psyched himself into standing up. He looked over his uniform- it was dirty, stained, and torn in some places, but it was nothing that its self-cleaning and self-repair features couldn’t fix. According to a diagnostic, the same went for the gashes in his face, save for a small mark on his right eyebrow that his self-repair refused to acknowledge, but he doubted anyone would notice.  
  
Notice... _had Hank noticed he was gone?_  
  
Connor scanned the reported list of missing androids. He wasn’t sure whether to feel glad that he wasn’t on there, or sad that Hank didn’t care enough to report him. Maybe his disappearance wasn’t reported _because_ Hank cared? God, humans were confusing.  
  
While examining Hank’s recent precinct activity (technology really did track everything, huh?), Connor noted a few odd calls made before a meeting was scheduled with Elijah Kamski, former CEO of CyberLife for today at 11 A.M..  
  
Was Hank serious about this investigation after all? Why, would wonders never cease! Connor checked the time (3:51 A.M.) and sent a request for an autonomous taxi. He had a meeting to attend.  
  
***  
  
Connor shifted uncomfortably, tightening his jacket around himself. He looked at Kamski’s house just behind him. It’d been 8 hours since the junkyard, and in the later part of those 8 hours he began feeling phantom hands crawling all over him. No amount of coin flipping or impossible puzzles could distract him from it, making him feel hopeless.  
_  
What if I never stop feeling this way?_ _What if this is with me forever?_  
  
The sound of tires against snow drew Connor’s attention to Hank’s car coming up the drive leading to Kamski’s house. _Inhale, exhale, inhale..._ He could do this.  
  
The car came to a stop a few feet in front of him. Hank shut off the engine and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.  
  
“There you are! Where the hell did you go yesterday?” Hank put his hands on his hips authoritatively. “We could’ve found something if you’d bothered to stay, you know. I had to hear from Perkins that you’d just up and left!”    
  
“ _Up and left?_ ” Connor hissed. He couldn’t do this. “Up and LEFT? Hank, I was _attacked_ by one of the deviant station androids, _knocked out,_ then brought to a JUNKYARD by one of Perkins’s men! The androids there... they were pleading for death. I had to take my own fucking eyes out and replace them!” He gestured wildly to his new blue eyes.  
  
Hank blanched. “I- holy fuck, I didn’t know-“  
  
“NO! You can’t use that excuse! You’ve been treating me with the MINIMUM amount of respect ever since we met! I fucking _deviated_ because of it!” Connor roared. “I didn’t come back from _hell_ to be treated like this!”  
  
A tense silence fell over them. Connor stood fuming with his arms crossed, and Hank was mouthing wordlessly.  
  
“Connor... I... I’m so-”  
  
“You know what? Forget it. Let’s just go see Kamski.”  
  
“Are you sure? I won’t force you to come on this one if you don’t wanna, you can stay in the car...”  
  
“I _said_ let’s go.”  
  
“Alright... we’re going.”  
  
Connor and Hank trudged to Kamski’s door and rang the doorbell. Exactly 10.73 seconds later (why was Connor counting?) a RT600 Chloe model answered the door.  
  
Hank cleared his throat. “Hi. Uh... I'm, er, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department. I'm here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski.”  
  
“Please, come in.” The Chloe flashed a bright smile and stepped aside, motioning to the foyer. For the first time ever, Connor walked into the room first, with Hank following.  
  
“I’ll let Elijah know you’re here. But please, make yourself comfortable.”  
  
Hank wiped the seat of one of the cramped-looking red chairs and sat down. Connor idled around the foyer, observing his surroundings unseeingly. The house was ostentatious at the least; that was all he needed to know.  
  
He had just walked into the lion’s den, hadn’t he? He’d stupidly admitted his deviancy to Hank, and if Kamski was as brilliant as everyone claimed, he too would soon know about Connor’s deviancy. If they didn’t decide to execute him right here, then he would be sent back to CyberLife for deactivation. There was no way Connor was getting out of this alive.  
  
He looked up at a picture of a young Elijah Kamski standing next to Amanda Stern (AI Professor at University of Colbridge. Born: 05/14/78 – Died: 02/23/27) and sighed. That must be who Amanda was based on. Would things have gone better if he had continued to obey her? Would he have suffered much less?  
  
“So, you’re about to meet your maker, Connor.” Hank’s voice registered in the part of Connor’s mind that wasn’t occupied with contemplating his inevitable death. “How does it feel?”  
  
“It doesn’t raise any more existential questions than I’m already having, if that’s what you mean.”  
  
“Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face...I'd have a couple of things I'd wanna tell him.”  
  
Chloe reappeared through a doorway leading to an indoor swimming pool. “Elijah will see you now.”  
  
Kamski stood next to the pool of shockingly dark red water, freshly robed yet dripping wet. Two Chloes in bright blue bikinis swam in the pool, leaning over the edge and conversing with one another. On the opposite side of the room was a window that stretched wall-to-wall, giving a clear and magnificent view of the snow-hazed skyline of Detroit. The left wall wasn’t even a wall; it was a faux rock formation that met with a waterfall.  
_  
Being this rich should be illegal..._  
  
Kamski clasped his hands together and faced Hank and Connor with a pompous air, waiting for one of the two to speak up.  
  
“I’m Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank said. “This is Connor.”  
  
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”  
  
“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife years ago, but... I was hoping you'd be able to tell us something we don't know.”  
  
“Deviants... Fascinating, aren't they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will...” Kamski spoke infuriatingly slow. Connor wondered if punching his creator would be an appropriate last act. “Machines are _so_ superior to us. Confrontation was inevitable. Humanity's greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall. Isn't it ironic?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Look, deviancy seems to spread like some kind of virus. We thought you might know something about that.”  
  
“All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics... Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”  
  
“Listen, I didn't come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that'll be helpful, or we will be on our way.”  
  
Kamski abruptly turned to Connor. “What about you, Connor? Where do you stand in this?”  
  
Stunned by the sudden spotlight, Connor stumbled over his words. “I- uh- it's not about me, Mr. Kamski. All I want is to solve this case.”  
  
Kamski raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Alright. Ask one question... I’ll tell you all I know.”  
  
“The deviants obviously operate in one large group. I want to know where their hideout is.”  
  
“Jericho, you mean. A place where androids are free. A place for deviants, who _rise_ up against their creators! They transmit a piece of code to each other, in order to find their sanctuary.” One of the Chloe’s rose out of the pool and approached Connor, holding out her arm for connection. Connor accepted.  
**  
JERICHO KEY DOWNLOADED**  
  
“Now you have the key,” Kamski continued. The Chloe walked away. “Ferndale Station is the door.”  
  
“You done?” Hank asked. Connor nodded and went to walk ahead of Hank again, but-  
  
“By the way,” Kamski called out, “I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.”  
  
“I do know, actually.” Connor replied. “I’ve seen your work first-hand.” And with that, Connor strode out of Kamski’s house.  
  
What was Kamski _thinking_? Had Kamski been thinking at  _all_? He just  _willingly_  gave Jericho's location to a deviant-hunter-turned-deviant. Perhaps he didn't give a damn about a potential android revolution one way or another; he'd made his money, he was living in paradise, and now the rest of the world could go fuck off.  
  
"So..." Hank began awkwardly as they descended the ramp in front of Kamski's mansion, "you're taking off to Jericho?" 

  
"Yes. I'll find some clothes to go undercover and..." 

  
"Join them?" 

  
Connor froze. Seeing the uselessness in lying, he decided to be honest. "Y-yes" 

  
"Okay. I can drive you to Ferndale."

  
No. There was no way Connor could be certain that Hank wouldn't lock him in the car and drive him straight to CyberLife for disassembly.  
  
"No, I think I'll walk there. Thank you, Lieutenant." 

  
"Fuck no!" Hank exclaimed. "I mean, you'll freeze your biocomponents out here! And after what you've been through today, I can at least let you ride in my car." Oh, so Hank was playing friendly? Nice try, but Connor wasn't so easily fooled. 

"I don't want to trouble you, Lieutenant. I'll gladly wait for an autonomous taxi." 

  
"This place is in the middle of nowhere! Like hell you're waiting 40 minutes for a taxi to come-" Hank grabbed Connor by the back of his neck and started leading him towards the car-

 _  
Hands, hundreds of hands, coming from every direction and touching him everywhere, constantly pulling, yanking, and cordoning him off- let me go- please let me go- there’s not enough space-  
  
_"PLEASE!" Connor shrieked, twisting out of Hank's grasp. 

  
"What the- Connor, calm down!" Hank seized Connor's upper arms, trying to steady him-

_  
A strong pair of hands pulling him off the floor, only to throw him back down- don’t touch me, I’m scared-_

  
Connor became completely limp and dropped to the ground. Hank let go and stepped back a few feet in surprise. Connor saw his opportunity and took it. He sprung back up, grabbed Hank by his collar, and slammed him into the side of the car.

  
"Don’t fucking touch me!" Connor spat. He curled his fists further into the fabric of Hank’s shirt "Don't... don't..."

  
Everything in Connor's life was slow, as was the realization that he would still never make it out of here alive. He couldn't run. Hank had never expressed hesitance with pulling a gun on him before; there was no reason not to shoot Connor if he decided to make a break for it.  And if he got in the car, Hank would no doubt take him back to CyberLife, who now knew about his deviancy courtesy of Perkins. He had fought so valiantly for his life, and one simple outburst had thrown it all down the drain. His only other option would be to incapacitate Hank, and he certainly didn’t want to do that. Nobody should be harmed just because a machine built to be destroyed wanted to live. It was selfish.  
  
Fuck empathy. It was literally going to be the death of him.  
  
Connor let go of Hank and shoved him aside to slip into the passenger seat. He secured the seatbelt over himself and crossed his arms.  
_  
Acceptance_ of death might’ve felt peaceful, maybe even pleasant, but _resignation_ to death didn’t feel bad or good. It didn’t lift any metaphorical weight from Connor’s shoulders. It didn’t raise questions of morality and mortality. It was dull and empty, devoid of fear or happiness.  
_  
This is how Carlos Ortiz’s android must’ve felt.  
_  
Hank crept into the driver’s seat, casting wary looks Connor’s way. He reached into his pocket, and Connor covered his eyes. He didn’t want to see the gun when it shot him.  
  
Hank rapped the dashboard with his knuckles. “Hey, Connor, I’ve got your coin. D’you want it?”  
  
His coin...? Connor peered over his hands. It was indeed his 1994 quarter that that Hank had confiscated back at Stratford Tower.  
  
No. He couldn’t bear to take it with him for his deactivation. Some memory of him had to be in the world if he couldn’t.  
  
Connor shook his head despondently. “N-no.”  
  
“Are you sure? I won’t bug you about it or anythin’.”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“Alrighty then. I’ll hold onto it in case you change your mind.” Were all humans such manipulators?  
  
Connor never looked away from his lap the entire drive. One by one, he turned off his external programs (GPS, Social Module, Outcome Predictor and Advisor, online connection) until he had no idea what streets they were taking, or how long it would be until they reached CyberLife Headquarters. His mind was no longer running over the thousands of different ways he could be torn apart and analyzed. He couldn’t look into the technician schedules to see which ones would oversee his deactivation. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.  
  
The car came to a stop. It bounced slightly with the sudden absence of Hank’s weight, leaving Connor alone and confused. Why was Hank getting out? CyberLife guards wouldn’t allow that. They would first request that the window be rolled down so they could scan and identify Connor...  
_  
Unless...  
_  
“Hey, you coming or what? Can’t have you staying in the car without the heater on.”  
  
Connor’s head snapped up. Hank stood in front of the door to his house, swinging his keys around his finger. Ecstatic barks from Hank’s St. Bernard, Sumo, resonated from inside the home.  
  
Connor stepped out of the car and into Hank’s house in a euphoric haze. _This wasn’t CyberLife, this wasn’t CyberLife, he wasn’t going to die..._  
  
“You’ve got your arms wrapped around yourself. Are you cold?”  
  
Connor shook his head blankly. “Y-you... this... you aren’t taking me back to CyberLife?”  
  
“No. I’m gonna drive you to Ferndale Station, but I thought I’d give you clothes to wear so you can blend in with the humans.” Hank frowned. “Why would I take you back to CyberLife if you’re a deviant?”  
  
“W-well, considering your blatant despise for androids, and the fact that you’re an officer of the law, I figured you’d turn me in for exactly that. Being a deviant.”  
  
“What? No! Wait, shit... is _that_ why you freaked out back at Kamski’s?”  
  
“Thats... uh... part of the reason, yes.”  
  
Hank sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Connor, I know I was pretty fucking shitty to you, and I have no excuse for that, but... maybe you really are alive. Maybe deviants will be the ones to make this world a better place. I should’ve never done and said the things I did, like pointing a gun at you-“  
  
“And insulting me at every chance you had?”  
  
“Geez, yeah, that too... But I’m willing to make up for that. Y’know, change for the better.”  
  
Hank pulled a large black beanie off of the coat rack. “I’m taking you to Ferndale. Let me find you some clothes that aren’t too baggy, and you can change in my restroom.”  
  
Connor couldn’t stop the tears of relief that came to his eyes. “I-I really thought you were going to take me back to CyberLife... I was sure I was going to die,” he sniffled pathetically. “And when I was attacked, I wanted to call out for you, b-but... I didn’t think you would want to keep me after seeing me so broken and damaged.”  
  
“God, Connor... Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that was like. Do- are you okay with hugs?”  
  
“Mhmm!”  
  
Connor was quickly enveloped in a massive bear-hug, which he gladly gave into. They only broke apart when his crying had calmed to occasional sniffling.  
  
“It might take a while to find clothes that fit you, so get comfortable.”  
  
“That’s okay. I’m not in a rush.”  
  
***  
  
30 minutes later, Connor stood before the restroom mirror, clad in overly large jeans, a dark gray cowl neck, a dingy brown leather jacket, old timberland boots, and the large black beanie. All in all, Connor thought he looked good, except...  
  
“I think I preferred my brown eyes. These blue ones make me look cold and calculating.”  
  
“Look at me?”  
  
Connor turned to Hank, who was unwisely leaning against the wall-mounted radiator. He looked intently at Connor’s eyes and smiled.  
  
“I think you look good either way, son.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you watch carefully, Amanda really does wiggle her eyebrows every time she's degrading Connor in some way. It caught me so off guard, I had to put it in a fic somehow. 
> 
> Comments are sustenance~


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